


A Settled Place

by msariadneoliver



Series: Dust and Ashes [1]
Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015)
Genre: Canon Divergent, F/F, Fluff, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, emily brent is a nervous wreck who just wants to be a good girlfriend, ethel rogers is an actual angel who deserves happiness and orgasms, snippet from one of the bigger oneshots I'm writing for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 16:28:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20567381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msariadneoliver/pseuds/msariadneoliver
Summary: Set two months after the events of Soldier Island, in which Ethel Rogers wouldn't trade her new life living in a secluded cottage with Emily Brent, this world where only they seemed to exist, for anything





	A Settled Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatingsplits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/gifts).

_ October 29, 1939 _

Ethel had been finishing setting the last of the pans onto the countertops, steaming heat clouding her skin when she heard the front door latch open. She had grown used to the sound over the last couple of months, but it never failed to send her insides fluttering with anticipation, that came in even stronger form that night. There was the familiar footsteps clicking that short distance across the sitting room, Ethel pretending to be more enamored of her work than she was, before finally, she could see Emily out of the corner of her eye, standing somewhat rigidly in the doorframe, as if afraid to lean against it. Ethel turned, flinching only a little when that recognizable warmth overtook her, seeing Emily’s almost nervous expression, that soft glimmer of a smile curling at her lips.

“You’re late,” Ethel said, although not unkindly. She was surprised to see a hint of pink come into Emily’s cheeks then, as the older woman began stammering,

“Yes, I’m sorry, I - the train was broken down again - all a beastly nuisance - and then there was the bloody queue at the -”

“Darling, it’s alright,” She told her, with a light chuckle, “I’m not fully done with everything just yet anyway. I’d say we can forgive it. Just this once.” She looked at Emily pointedly, hopefully with a twinkle in her eyes that gave away that she was only teasing. 

“Oh, well, alright. Only if you let me get the table ready.” 

“I’d say that’s a fair trade, yes,” The knots in Ethel’s stomach had coiled so tightly and she was unable to stand the formal distance between them any longer. She took those few short strides, pressing herself into Emily’s warm, waiting frame. For several moments, neither spoke, there was no need. They simply savored the presence of one another. She inhaled Emily’s scent, that smell of musk and jasmine and spices, red gold curls tickling at her skin. 

“This dress is lovely,” Emily murmured, and her fingers trailed absently up Ethel’s spine, which, coupled with the sensation of the silk chiffon, made her shiver.

“It’s new,” She said. It was all she could say, before she felt the flush come to her cheeks. She had never owned anything so nice in her entire life. She still wasn’t entirely sure how well it suited her, but that didn’t stop her from curling her hair a little before pulling it into its usual bun, from blotting on a little dusty rose colored lipstick, from relishing the fact that with the October sun setting earlier and earlier still, it was dark enough that she had no need of her glasses that evening. It was strange, feeling pretty, but in her giddiness, she couldn’t bring herself to think too hard on the alien sensation of it all. 

“What’s that?” She asked, taking note of a small green box in Emily’s hand, 

“It’s for later,” Emily told her, with that command in her voice that made Ethel shiver again with delight. She leaned in, allowing Emily to capture her lips with uncharacteristic gentleness. Her fingers caressed Ethel’s cheek, cool at the touch. It was far too tempting to take hold of those hands, guide them further down her body, pull them towards the countertop to let herself be absolutely ravished . . .

“Hmmmmm, there’s yorkshire puddings about to burn,” She said quietly, finally pulling herself away. “I expect you’re hungry after the long day you’ve had,”

“Famished,” Emily admitted, her voice thick and husky in a way that made it that much more difficult for Ethel to let herself be released. They had time, she reminded herself. They had all the time in the world . . . 

They ate their dinner of roast beef, potatoes and parsnips and the yorkshire puddings. A white wine that had been chilled in the fridge because both preferred white wines to reds. It tasted crisp and sweet, almost like apples. She remembered not to drink in such large, sudden gulps, not wishing to impart another sharp dizzying spell on herself. 

It still took them some time to ease into conversation. Emily was complimentary about the meal, as always, and Ethel liked to see her eat so thoroughly. It wasn’t a certainty anymore that things like meat and butter and bottles of milk would be available without question, and it seemed best to simply enjoy things as they were while they were lasting, instead of simply waiting for the penny to finally drop. Emily told Ethel all of the finer details of her day, and wheedled the same out of Ethel, who insisted that there was nothing too terribly interesting to relate. She finished  _ Great Expectations _ , and she checked out a few more books from the library.

“Already?” Emily’s eyes widened, with a grin, a little huff of breath. “You’ve certainly been efficient, haven’t you?”

“Yes, well,” She tried not to sound too proud, “All those hours to fill, you know,” She was struck that after nearly two months of this life, Ethel was still struck by the realization of how she missed Emily, her company, her voice, her features, her scent, in those hours that she was away. Today, it nearly made tears spring into her eyes, and her stomach coiled again so tightly, that she had to uncross and cross her legs several times, trying to ignore that deliciously familiar rush between them. 

“No, let me get those,” Emily insisted later, after they had finished and were clearing everything away. “You’ve done everything else today,” It was a kind gesture, although Ethel had never been so restless, alone in the sitting room, trying to focus on the words in  _ Mansfield Park _ . Yet, the words didn’t even come to pass in her mind, which seemed to put everything else into a kind of fog. She could only think about how she was so full of wanting that she was nearly sick with it. How much she wanted Emily’s eyes on her again, wanted to hear the soft but commanding cadence of her voice, wanted to think of nothing else but of them and of this like there wasn’t a war brewing on the continent and the world was only this, wanted further, something that she couldn’t find the words for, but was still there and burning. She  _ wanted _ . 

“Finished,” She started when she heard that chirp of Emily’s voice, and turned to see her approaching, cheeks tinged with pink, and that green box in her hand again. “Here we are,”

“Oh? It’s later, is it?” Ethel asked, with a giggle.

“I suppose it is,” She spoke with an apprehensiveness that was very unlike Emily. Still she finished her approach, handing the box to Ethel somewhat awkwardly. “I spotted this. In a shop on my way home. It - the color - reminded me of you and I thought . . . I thought you might like it, you see.” She turned away quickly, presumably before Ethel could notice how prominent that pink in her cheeks had become, and she was over in her favorite armchair, pretending to be immersed in her knitting. Ethel moved the lid of the box away with care as it made that familiar squeak, pushed away tissue paper, and gave a soft gasp when she discovered what was inside. A scarf, spring green with tiny violets scattered across it, made of a silk so light and so creamy that she expected her fingers to come away moist. 

“Oh, Emily,” She murmured, “It’s lovely,” Her insides were fluttering, and she willed herself not to let the tears were beginning to blur her vision, escape down her cheeks, because she knew that would only make Emily shift in her chair all the more. As it was, Emily seemed to only be daring a glance in her direction, her lips pursed so thin that to the untrained eye she would appear to be disapproving, but Ethel had known her just long enough to know better. “I - I feel as though I should make it up to you somehow,”

“Oh no,  _ don’t _ ,” Emily said quickly, fussing with her needles and her skein of wool, “You really don’t have to. I just - I just thought you’d like it, that’s all. So just . . . do that. I suppose,” She looked down to her work again. “Although if you don't, we can always return it. I think. I forgot to ask, blast it.”

“Oh no, we don’t need to,” She couldn’t contain her happiness and she ran her fingers across the fabric again, “I love it, darling. Thank you,” Emily gave a thin smile, but she returned to her work without a word. She knew it was foolish, but there was an almost instinctive pang of anxiety within her suddenly, seeing Emily’s grim expression. She set the gift onto the end table, going over and moving Emily’s things out of the way, slipping one leg up and over so that she was straddling Emily’s lap. The little draw of breath Emily gave, the way she began to pet Ethel’s stockinged thighs so delicately as though she might accidentally hurt her, it took everything for Ethel to not sigh and preen against her. But she was intent. There were more important matters to attend to. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m fretting so much,” Emily muttered, though she still didn’t meet Ethel’s eyes.

“Have you been?” It was a paltry lie, and it was obvious Emily saw through it immediately, but she was certain the older woman resisted a chuckle. 

“I know there probably isn’t any need. It’s all silly, really. I just -” She sighed, and their eyes finally met, “I just want to make you happy. As happy as you make me,”

“You do,” Ethel insisted, bringing one of Emily’s hands up towards her, kissing her knuckles, “You have. Believe me, darling. This life. With you. I don’t think I’ve ever  _ known _ happiness like this before.” She pressed her lips against the pads of Emily’s fingers. 

“You deserve the world, you know,” Emily went on, and Ethel blushed. 

“This is the world for me,”

“I don’t feel that I’m much of a bargain, you know. I’m conceited and thoughtless and messy,”

“Well, not everyone can be Joan Crawford.” This finally earned her one of those laughs, so sultry and low, and Ethel couldn’t resist leaning herself more into Emily’s embrace. “I mean it, Miss Brent. I have all the world I could possibly want, with you. You have been so good to me, made me so truly happy . . .” 

“Then tell me,” Emily said, rasping, “What do you want? Right this moment?” They were so close now, noses touching, and Ethel could see the pleading in her eyes. There was a litany of words on the edge of Ethel’s lips, too many, words desperately screaming to be said, so many wants that weren’t quite ready to be realized. So Ethel gazed at Emily with all the resoluteness she could muster. 

“I want . . . I want you to kiss me.  _ Please _ ,” She didn’t need to be told twice. 

There was nothing gentle about Emily’s touch now, her mouth and tongue tasting of wine, before Ethel’s lips grazed against Emily’s jaw, along the side of her neck. Emily’s nail’s grazed at the fabric of her dress, cupped her breasts, eliciting an unmistakable sigh of longing. 

Moonlight peeked into their bedroom through the curtains, a splash of rippling silver along the sheets. It gave Emily an almost ethereal quality in the light, that Ethel could not take her eyes off of. They relieved each other of their clothing with a practiced efficiency and ease, even when Emily’s fingers were trembling so she needed fumbling guidance with the buttons of her blouse, when there was left a small tear in one of Ethel’s stockings in her haste to remove them. A slow but somehow sudden unravelling of those fine nylon threads. The sound of hair pins scattering carelessly on the floor as Ethel’s brown curls fell down her shoulders, was drowned out through the sounds of messy and increasingly desperate kisses, of sighs and encouragements as they were laid more bare before each other. 

“My beauty,” Emily whispered, her breath hot against the rough line of Ethel’s collar, a whisper uttered with such wantonness that Ethel gave a broken whine, nearly reaching her breaking point right then and there. “My angel . . .” Her fingers scraped down towards Ethel’s thighs, the sensation giving her a shudder before she could even think. She had wanted to reach Emily first, feel her hot and wet against her hand until she cried out from the release and let her reach that delirious euphoria before anything else. Instead, she could only feel her eyes flutter shut, as her back arched, hips rolling greedily into Emily’s touch. She could feel herself aching so badly now, so overwhelmed with the wanting that her voice abandoned her, leaving only a pleading moan. When Emily’s fingers found their way through her slick curls, two finding their way inside her, thumb finding its way around her sensitive bundle of nerves, her name escaped, broken on Ethel’s lips.

“Oh . . . oh  _ yes,”  _ she hissed, keening into the sensation, “Yesyesyes like  _ that _ ,” Soon, Emily was kissing her mouth again, hard and bruising, taking in Ethel’s sighs and gasps with every shaking breath, as they moved together. She let Ethel’s nails bury themselves in her hair, mussing it, making it appear as wild and untamed as anything. She could feel their breasts, so soft, so sensitive brush together with their movements, a feeling that elicited another sigh, another whine, moremore _ more _ . There was that familiar strain, that familiar heat, that familiar pressure building as Emily’s lips broke from hers again, trailing to her neck. Her thumb pressed down harder, her rhythm becoming more urgent with every passing second. She hadn’t ceased her kissing, sucking licking, on that pulsing point on Ethel’s neck, and Ethel’s sighs turned to moans as she grew close, so terribly close . . 

“Ooh, oh  _ god, _ I- I -I,  _ Oohhh,” _ There was a sharp intake of flashing pain, Emily biting down into her skin, and it was searing and gorgeous and Ethel cried out as her climax overtook her. Her thighs grinding and shuddering and circling frantically around Emily’s hand, waves of that pleasure and release hitting her in a way that her eyes went starry and she almost didn’t hear Emily’s muffled cry against her shoulder with that final, slow thrust of their bodies. 

When Ethel finally opened her eyes, still all ragged breathing, body cooling, she saw Emily looking down intently at her, her eyes glassy and lips parted.

“I’m sorry, I -” She began, the words hoarse, “I couldn’t stop myself, I -”

“No, it’s alright,” She giggled, “I’m flattered, honestly,” 

“And . . .” Emily swallowed, “Good?”

“Very good. You’ve very nearly killed me,” And they were both laughing before Emily kissed her again, slower, sweeter, salt on their lips. She slowly removed her fingers from between Ethel’s legs, and Ethel reached for them without a moment of hesitation. There was something so devastatingly erotic about tasting herself on Emily’s skin, aiding in that act of cleaning themselves. Emily whimpered at the sight. For a while after, they didn’t move, tangled together in a mess of limbs and sheets, Emily tracing absent circles along Ethel’s spine, her ribcage, the inside of her wrist. She traced along Ethel’s neck, ghosting along the place where she had bitten down before and Ethel gave a little wince. Emily’s brows furrow.

“I’m sorry,” She murmured,

“What for?”

“I think I hurt you. That’s going to leave a mark come morning,” There seemed to be genuine reproach in her eyes, but the thought such handiwork blemished on her skin made Ethel shiver again and her eyes assuredly darken. Emily’s fingers still laced through hers, she brought them up towards her lips, biting down on the tip of one lightly. Emily gasped, but she relaxed when Ethel kissed the small red mark.

“There, do you see? Now we’re even,” 

She buried her face in the crook of Emily’s neck, a contented sigh escaping her. This was bliss, this place, this life, this world with just the two of them. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be part of a larger oneshot that I'm also writing for these two, but I couldn't resist writing out this scene first. Special thanks to Kate, who had to deal with all my incessant ramblings about headcanons and who's advice helped me plan out so much of this. Also, if anyone is interested, please check out 'No One Else' from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812, as it was the song I listened to on repeat while writing this.


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